


Warmth

by sh_wright890



Series: Wild World [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Childhood Friends, Daddy Issues, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Referenced Alcohol Use, not a kink I promise, sexuality questioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:26:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8910802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sh_wright890/pseuds/sh_wright890
Summary: "I can't stop thinking about it...
Hold me in this wild, wild world'Cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can beAnd in your heat I feel how cold it can get.Now draw me close"
"Warmth" by Bastille





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daringstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daringstars/gifts).



> Here's my gift for daringstars--I hope you like it! I felt really stupid once I was halfway done with it because I realized "canon divergence" had nothing to do with Divergent. Yikes. 
> 
> The fic was supposed to be something small since I was working on other projects and whatnot, but I started putting in some details, and then it exploded into something too big for me to not write down if that makes any sense. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> \--Shelby

If there was anything I’d learned in life, it was that people weren’t reliable. Fathers didn’t stay. Siblings left you in the cold after school when they’d _promised_ they'd be there to pick you up. Hell, even the fucking _plants_ died after you’d been taking care of them for five months--ungrateful bastards. 

Marco Bodt was the only exception to that.

When I was in first grade, I had plenty of friends. Those were the times before we had a social caste system. Back then, the only things we had to worry about were skinned knees and loose teeth. Oh, and let’s not forget the time I made Eren Jaeger cry when I told him to shut up after he called me dumb for not knowing how to add double digit numbers fast enough. I might’ve also called him a jerk and a meany head, but he totally deserved it to be honest.

Anyway, it was, like, halfway through the year when there was this new kid. He was kinda short and had a bit of chub on his legs and a round face. There were “spots” all over his arms, legs, and face. His front teeth had a gap in the middle of them, and he smiled a lot. 

I could say we became friends immediately, but we honestly didn’t. He was likeable, I guess, but my young brain just didn’t care to give new people the time of day. Besides, he was friends with other, louder people like Sasha and Connie. I was friends with them too, but we weren’t all friends together. It wasn’t until third grade when there was some thing where we were paired up with the person next to us to work on our papers in science or whatever, and after the new seating arrangement, the starboy was right next to me. 

Change has never been something I enjoyed. I didn’t like that my family moved further out of town to some place with a big yard and a small barn--even if I did grow to enjoy the loft enclosed in the red walls.  Even the change of the seasons bothered me, so it didn’t surprise my parents that I came home upset about having to work with some new kid. Mom bribed me to work with him for awhile with hot chocolate that had extra marshmallows on top of it.

Slowly, I began to like the freckled boy named Marco. He had a lot of really bad jokes, and he tended to snort when he laughed--which was often--but he was really nice, and he always helped me when I was having issues with things. Even after our seats got moved, we still talked. I even invited him over to my house. Mom adored him, and my older brother actually stopped pestering me when Marco was around. 

So of  _ course _ I kept him around.

And he actually stayed too. We quickly became close friends. He listened to me when I told him about feelings I had--which was huge for me since I wasn’t one to talk about such things often, if at all. When I heard an argument between Mom and Dad--one they had no idea I heard--while we were in seventh grade, Marco listened to my fears, and when Mom kicked Dad out, he let me cry on him. When my brother would be off doing something with his shitty friends and forget to pick me up from school--which was embarrassing enough being practically the only person in my grade without a car; he just had to  _ ditch _ me on the curbside--Marco would come and get me seeing as how I lived several miles from the school. He even listened to me complain when my cactus melted in the sun. Literally. I don’t even want to talk about that.

Marco was as reliable and steady as they came, and I had no idea how I’d lucked out like that--even if it took me years to realize that he’d become my rock.

So when I woke up with him next to me in my bed, covered in marks and devoid of any and all clothing, my first thought was,  _ Fuck. _

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ fuck. _

I could lie and say I didn’t remember what’d happened the night before, but the memory was seared into my brain, probably forever. The way he moaned and how he felt around me and when he all but  _ screamed my name _ …

I groaned and covered my face with a pillow. There was no fucking way that’d happened.

In a way, I wasn’t surprised at all. Physically, at least. Over the years, the freckles adorning his skin multiplied significantly, and he was tan. Not to mention puberty hitting him like a  _ fucking train _ in between middle school and high school. His cheeks were still soft, but they certainly weren’t chubby, and the fat on his legs and his back all but  _ melted _ off of him when he decided to join the football team. Not long after the final days of our freshman year, his braces were removed, and he picked a different hairstyle from the shag it was before that. 

He was gorgeous, and I let him know that from time to time when he was feeling down about how pants were always hard to shop for with the thick curves on his legs.

No homo, though.

The other part about the physicality that didn’t surprise me was how he had a leg slung over mine and an arm thrown over my chest. Touching had been a big thing--an  _ us _ thing--for as long as I could remember, starting with all the horror movies we used to watch. It became normal for one of us to grab the other’s hand when we were scared. Soon after, we’d thrown our legs in each other’s laps when we were just hanging out, and eventually the boundaries just sort of… disappeared. It was similar to the way that girls have no boundaries with each other, and it wasn’t exactly normal since we were guys, so we formed a wordless promise to keep it secret. I lay on top of him in private, but in public it was off limits--especially with him on the football team and me on the baseball team. 

I froze as there was movement right beside me.

God, how did we end up like this?

_ Because you’re fucking stupid, Kirschtein. _

“Jean?” Marco mumbled in an endearingly sleepy voice, and my heart  _ jolted _ with panic as I told that stupid voice that’d called him cute to  _ shut the fuck up right now or else. _

Clearing my throat did nothing since my voice broke halfway through my response of, “Yeah?” anyway.

His eyebrows furrowed, and pushing on my chest to lift himself up, he opened his eyes. They were the same eyes he’d had since we became friends, but now, I noticed how they were blanketed by long, dark lashes that were honestly too, well,  _ beautiful _ to be even fucking  _ fair. _ “What’s wrong?” He bit down on his lower lip, a habit he’d had forever.

“N-nothing. I… I think I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” I gulped. My brain suddenly reminded me that I’d have to get out of bed, that he’d see my dick in the morning light filtering through my windows, that I would have to turn around, and he’d see my butt as I walked away.

I wasn’t sure if I was distressed about him  _ liking _ how my ass looked or about him  _ not _ liking how my ass looked. No homo. Right?  _ Right? _ Fuck. What’d this even mean for me? I liked girls. I’d had plenty of crushes. Mikasa was the most gorgeous girl I knew, even if she’d never give me the time of day. 

Chicks not dicks. No homo, I swear. Oh my god. 

Logically, I knew getting drunk for my birthday was the worst idea ever, but when your dad decides that leaving the day you turn thirteen, you don’t ever feel like celebrating. 

“Okay.” Slowly, he pulled back and stretched his arms in the air languidly. I stayed frozen on my bed. Glancing at me, he furrowed his eyebrows again. “Jean, are you sure you--” There was an abrupt pause as he did a double take and saw that I was not only shirtless but that there wasn’t a waistband around my hips above where the sheets pooled in my lap. “Oh my god,” he whispered.

I swallowed thickly. Nervous laughter bubbled out between my lips. “Surprise, Freckles.”

Thankfully, he knew how stressed I was about this, and I knew how stressed he was about this. We’d known each other long enough that we could just read each other like open books, but honestly, I’d never read this in his pages. Attraction for me wasn't scrawled upon the softly worn pages of his story--at least not in the first several chapters--and maybe, I realized, I'd been reading him too fast, too eagerly to catch all the details.

We could deny it as much as we wanted, but we wouldn’t have had sex if one of us hadn’t actually wanted it. We might have been drunk, but being drunk made you lose your inhibitions; it didn’t make you into a totally different person. He’d wanted it, and I realized  _ I'd _  wanted it too in a way, and that fucking scared me. If I didn’t know I’d wanted my  _ best friend _ , what else didn’t I know about myself?

I released a tense breath. “M-Marco, I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t know what to s-say--I don’t know what to do.” I ground my teeth together. Words weren’t my strong suit. 

He averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “No,  _ I’m _ sorry. I took advantage of you.” Fingers rubbed between his eyebrows. “I know how much you hate thinking about your birthday, and I should’ve--I don’t know--stopped myself.”

I squinted. “Are you saying  _ one date _ makes me weak?” A stab of hurt hit me squarely in the chest.

Surprised, he looked up at me. “What? No, never.”

“Y-you said you were taking advantage of me. I’m not some weak person that gets all teary eyed at something that happened years ago. He didn’t love me enough to stay. I’m over it.”

His lips turned down into a frown at my obvious lie, but I was in a panic. My heart was thundering in my chest because what did this mean for us? The last thing I wanted to do was lose my best friend, but I was also so  _ scared _ : scared of these feelings, scared of the repercussions, scared he’d tell me he might want to do something like this again, scared he would tell me he  _ didn’t _ want to do something like this ever, or that he'd never truly wanted it--that he didn't want me either. My head was a jumbled mess.

Normally, he would’ve brushed it off--he was used to my general assholishness, and I always apologized for it later, anyway--but there must’ve still been a bit of alcohol left in his veins, or maybe, it was something else. Either way, he didn’t let it drop.

“Jean, we both know how upset you get over it, especially on the day he up and left. Don’t try to tell me any different. I’ve watched you fall apart for six years now.”

I bristled. “If you don’t like watching it then why did you stay each time, huh?” The irritation was obvious in my voice, and I knew it wasn’t at him, but I couldn’t get myself to stop being such a dick.

He looked right at me. “Because I’m your friend. That’s what friends  _ do _ .”

There was a tense silence. 

“Do friends fuck their friends when they’re both drunk?”

There was a small crack in Marco’s composure, and somebody else would miss it, but I didn’t. I’d crossed a line. 

“Whatever, Jean.” He leaned over the side of the bed and scooped his clothes up off the floor. He slipped his underwear on under the blankets. “Look, I know you’re definitely not in the right frame of mind to be discussing this, and I’m not either--my head is  _ pounding _ \--so I’ll just call you later. Thanks for having me over.”

He didn’t sound very thankful. In fact, his voice sounded pretty frozen, but I was still so scared of what this whole thing meant or didn’t mean that I didn’t try to stop him from leaving. My door closed with a soft click, and minutes later, his car started in the driveway. I scrambled out of bed and pressed my hand to the window, watching him as he left. With a heavy sigh, I rested my head on the glass and closed my eyes. 

I fucked up. I fucked up really bad. It was my fault, and we both knew it, but somehow this was different from the other fights we’d had. I haven’t said something this shitty to him in a long time, and I felt absolutely horrible. 

* * *

The rest of the day was monotonous. Everything was this giant blur. I had a huge knot in my chest whenever I thought of my best friend--if I still even was his friend. I was thankful that I would be alone for the majority of the day. Mom had to work, and my brother was at college across the state still. The world didn’t stop for me.

I laid on my bed and started up at my lazily spinning ceiling fan. I didn’t bother to get dressed. When I did get up, I scooped my clothes off the ground in search of the phone that was no doubt left in my pockets. Perching on the end of my bed, I checked my notifications. Facebook took up most of them--birthday wishes from people who didn’t actually  _ know _ me--and a few texts from friends that actually did, but I elected to check them out later. 

Grabbing some underwear and a random shirt and jogging pants from a hamper of clothes I couldn’t be bothered to fold, I went into the bathroom. The first thing I noticed in the bright light when I saw myself in the mirror was how utterly fucked I looked. My hair was  _ all over _ , and there were marks covering my body--bruises on my hips in the vague shape of hands, tender marks up and down my neck, and eight crescents printed in various places all over my back. I traced a finger over a particularly dark mark on my shoulder, knowing the exact moment I'd gotten it. I had no doubts about what Marco looked like since I gave as good as I got.

_ I gave my virginity to Marco,  _ I realized with a pang in my gut. 

I wasn't concerned with meaningless, social constructions, and I’d never given a damn about something as meaningless as virginity--especially since it was some impossible trap for teenagers--but this… this wasn’t nothing. I could deny it as much as I wanted, but it  _ did _ mean something even if I wasn’t sure I wanted to put words to what that something was yet. 

Though, I couldn’t help but think about last night again. First times were something people talked about at school  _ a lot. _ I knew why they did--we’d been taught to believe that getting laid was some sort of godsend and whatnot--but now, I finally understood why so many of the guys on my team bragged about being with those random chicks. I wasn’t so sure about the whole  _ being with somebody you didn’t know _ thing, but I  _ did _ know Marco.

And now I knew him biblically too.

Marco might have been my first, but I wasn’t his. One summer, his mom sent him to a summer camp. While he was there, he told me he’d had sex with somebody a few times. He didn’t tell me who it was, and I didn’t pry. Come to think of it, the unusually tight, hot feeling in my chest wasn’t the kind that friends felt for friends. 

Stupidly, I found myself thinking about my lack of experience. Was that other person better than me? Not to sound cocky, but I knew I was at least  _ decent _ seeing as how he melted into the bed like butter whenever my lips found his sensitive ears, and my name fell from his mouth like a song, a prayer, a plea.

With a heavy sigh, I got in the shower and started washing last night off my body. 

Nothing kept me from feeling absolutely horrid. Marco was right, as he always was. I  _ did _ want to forget about my deadbeat father ditching me and the rest of my family, and he did just that like he’d had every year since it happened. The way in which it happened was just different than before. It didn’t mean anything--it didn’t  _ have _ to, right?

Fuck, my thoughts were so jumbled. I didn’t know what I wanted. Did I want Marco like that? Did I  _ like _ Marco like that? Or did I want him because I knew what he could do.

Many things were uncertain and unclear, but I knew for sure that I never wanted to hurt him.

The first thing I did when I got out of the shower was text Marco.  _ Can we talk? _

* * *

Going to school on Monday was absolutely miserable. I’d texted Marco several times over the rest of the weekend, but I received no responses. When I called, it went to his voicemail. Hearing his extra chipper voice telling me to leave a message only made my irritation worse, so I stopped calling.

_ If he was going to ignore me, _ I told myself,  _ I was going to ignore him too. _

I may or may not have slammed the door to my locker with much more force than normal before I stormed off to my first hour class. Out of the five classes per day we had at school, Marco was in my third and fourth hour classes, and the time until then dragged on. 

I tapped my foot in double time to the second hand on the clock. More than a few people shot me dirty looks as I tapped the eraser on the end of my pencil against the top of my desk. Focusing was hard when I found my thoughts drifting to the more intimate points of my weekend. I had to quickly put a lid on those thoughts when I realized I was having them. The last thing I needed was a hard-on in the middle of class. 

Determined to at least say  _ something _ to Marco, I headed all the way across the school to my English class. Except when I got there, he wasn’t sitting in his normal seat. He wasn’t sitting anywhere near it. As a matter of fact, he was sitting literally on the opposite side of the room in a cluster of people, smiling and laughing at something somebody was saying. 

Seeing that stung way more with so many different emotions than it should have.

I averted my gaze to my shoes and quietly slipped into my seat. Despite holding up a conversation with Armin, I could feel him look over at me periodically--or at least I liked to think he was. My chest rioted with feelings of anger and sadness and something else I chose not to name right now, but it was mostly hurt, and I knew I had no reason to be feeling any of it since it was all my fault anyway. 

So I kept it bottled up the whole period, and when he darted from the room as the bell rang, shooting me a sideways glance, I kept my gaze settled firmly on the ground, mouth forming a deep frown without my consent. From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw his eyebrows furrow with something like concern, but he was pushed completely out of the classroom by our peers before I could be tempted to look up at him.

Apparently if I  _ had _ seen concern, it wasn’t much because he still avoided his usual seat in that class too, and I was okay with it--or at least I told myself I was. We both knew this whole argument was because I was a genuinely shitty person, and I deserved him shunning me. 

Needless to say the class passed in a blur much like my earlier two classes, but it was a different blur this time.  _ This _ blur was a strange grayness punctuated by physical pain in my gut whenever I thought about how shitty I was to him. 

By the time class ended, my throat was tight, and I was feeling close to literal tears. I was out of my seat the second the bell rang, and, thankful for the free block I had fifth hour, went home without sparing the school a second glance. 

* * *

There were no calls, texts, or other notifications from Marco when I checked my phone at home.

* * *

Even though there wasn’t anything from somebody I actually wanted to hear from, there  _ was _ something from somebody I  _ never _ wanted to hear from. It was more than a “something”, actually. They were at my house.

My father was standing on the front doorstep to my house--the house we used to be his too until he had to throw it all away.

I froze with my hand on the open door of my car. For the second time in as many days, I had no idea what to say. He was watching me from the front doorstep. With his hands in the pockets of his jeans, stubble lining his jaw, and ash blond hair--now streaked with gray strands--kept in the same tousled waves, he looked the same way he did as when he left. 

Somehow, that made the pain I felt upon seeing him worse.

Somehow, I was able to feel extremely angry at him on top of the pain I felt at how I’d treated my best friend.

Somehow, I managed to slam the door to my car and storm to my front door without tripping and falling. 

“Jean,” he started. His fucking  _ voice _ was the same too. His green eyes were wide as he watched me approach. He took his hands out of his pockets. 

“What the  _ fuck _ do you want?” I hissed once I was in front of him. “Why are you here?”

“I… I wanted to see you. And Laura and Jacob.”

At the mention of my mom and brother, I bristled. “We don’t want to see you, and if you’d even  _ bothered _ to remember how old Jake is, you’d know he’s in college right now.”

He looked taken aback. “He got in?”

Scoffing, I shook my head. “You’re fucking ridiculous. Get off our property.”

His face twisted into a disappointed and disapproving look. “Quit swearing so much; it’s unbecoming.”

My bag dropped from my shoulder, and I leaned close to his face. I was taller than him now by a few inches. I was also much more angry than he’d ever been, but it wasn’t something I learned. I was a rock being weathered and heated up and pushed down so much that it’d physically changed me. 

“You can’t tell me what to do since you cheated on Mom. Who the fuck  _ does _ that?” My voice was filled with venom.

“I didn’t… think your mom told you.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he’d retained.

“She didn’t have to. You were both yelling so loud when she found out that I could hear you from the loft.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,  _ oh _ . Now, get out of here before I call the cops.”

There was this extremely long moment where we looked at each other, and neither of us said anything. He seemed to be searching my face for something. I merely stared back with a diamond-hard look. After what felt like hours, he sighed and looked to the side. “I messed up, Jean. I messed up really bad. I never meant to hurt any of you, but I’m weak. I just pray you’ll never have to go through anything like what I did.” He sighed heavily again and shook his head. “I’ll come back sometime later, but I’ll give you a heads up or something.”

My lip curled back as I watched him get in his car and drive away. Fuckin’ dickhead. Why would he think any of us would want to see him? Especially after he did that shit to Mom, to Jake, to me.

Even though I was nothing like him in the ways it counted, I felt like there was a strange parallel between us. We both hurt the ones we loved by not thinking about the consequences to our actions. The similarities ended there, though, because even though we both had issues involving sex, he didn’t love the person he was with, and I…

I did.

I loved Marco.

But even that realization wasn’t enough to keep me from locking the door behind me and sinking down against it as I cried into my palms. The emotional whiplash was simply too much for me to handle. Why was he even here? Why now? 

The fat tears sliding down my wrists weren’t giving me any answers. 

Eventually, I managed to pull myself together enough to peel myself off the floor and make my way to the living room. I threw my bags down and went into the bathroom to throw cold water on my face. It helped marginally. 

I knew talking about it would make it better, but there was only one person I wanted to talk about it with. Before I could think about it, I sent out a text. 

_ Emergency. _

* * *

I nearly started crying when I got an answer, and I actually  _ did _ start crying when I heard Marco’s quiet footfalls as he climbed up the rungs to the loft in the barn. 

For us, the barn had always been a safe space. There was something about the peeling paint and lack of artificial light that made it feel like time had stopped just long enough for us to feel better--to feel more like Jean and Marco. Countless nights consisted of the two of us lying side by side on the pile of pillows and blankets we’d dragged up there, talking as we stared up at the ceiling. 

One look at his face told me he was apprehensive about what I might do or say, but once he saw me in my embarrassingly weak and fragile state, his look turned to that of concern. “Jean?”

Sniffling, I tugged the old comforter around me tighter. The roof wasn’t doing such a hot job of keeping the drizzling rain out. “You c-came.”

“Of course I came. You’re my best friend.”

Hearing him call me his best friend--knowing that I hadn’t fucked things up  _ that _ much--made the tears fall even harder. “I’m s-sorry.” My voice sounding shitty from my stupid, stuffed-up nose, and I felt so small under his steady gaze. “It wasn’t your f-fault, and you’ve always b-been there for me, and I’m s-so fucking  _ sorry, _ ” I all but wailed. Before I could say anything else, I shoved a bundled blanket against my face.

I didn’t hear Marco move over the sound my despair, but the next thing I knew, I was gathered into a pair of warm, strong arms. Without hesitation, I turned into him and threw my arms around his neck. He rubbed my back in soothing circles and cooed gently to me until I stopped crying. His nose was buried in my hair. “... okay, Jean. I’ve got you. I won’t leave you.”

I gave one last shuddering breath before I closed my eyes and just sat there in his arms like a limp noodle. “M’sorry for crying all over you.”

“It’s just a shirt. I can wash it.”

“Okay.”

We were silent for another several moments. The silence wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t totally comfortable either. I knew he wanted to say something, but I wasn’t going to let him be the one to start it, not when he’d started the end of almost all our other arguments.

“Marco.” I lifted my head. “I’m really sorry for being such a douche to you. I didn’t… I didn’t  _ think _ \--like usual--and I’m sorry for hurting your feelings.”

Brown eyes met gold. Despite the cold, my palms started sweating. 

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I asked suspiciously. “That’s it?”

“Well, it isn’t  _ it _ \--we do need to… discuss some things--but I forgive you for being such a dick.”

I pulled back to look at him, and I was going to say something about him not bothering to hold back the punches, but his lips were tightening around the corners in that way he did when he was trying to not smile. I think he started laughing first, or maybe it was me. Either way, we both dissolved into a fit of giggles. He held me, and I held him, and it just felt  _ right _ .

We sat like that for quite some time. Neither of us said anything. The peace and quiet was bliss. Marco’s presence was a much-needed balm to my mind, heart, and soul.

“Are you okay now?” he asked.

“My dad is here,” I blurted before I could think twice about it.

He pulled back sharply and held me by the shoulders. “What? Are you serious?”

“Why would I joke about something like that?”

It was surprising to see something dark pass over his features. Marco was the most benevolent person I’d ever met, always smiling and laughing. Seeing him like this was freaky. Almost scary in a way.

“Did he come  _ here _ ?”

I nodded. “He was here when I got home from school. Said something about wanting to see me and Mom and Jake.”

“Does your mom know he was here?”

“No, I--I texted you first.”

His eyes softened again to their warm, earthy color, and he tentatively reached for my hand. I let him, squeezing his fingers between mine. “You should tell her.”

“I know I should, but I left my phone inside, and I just want to stay here and pretend he doesn’t exist.” Swallowing thickly, I looked up at him.  _ Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry. _

“Okay. I won’t make you.” His palm trailed up and down my arm, and I don’t think he even realized he was doing it. “You’re sure you want me to stay?”

“ _ Yes. _ ” To punctuate my point, I hugged his middle fiercely and didn’t let go. If he was surprised, he didn’t let on. Instead, he buried a hand in my hair and scratched gently at my undercut. A small hum escaped from my chest. This time, the silence was more comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that I opened my mouth and let what I was thinking spill out. 

“I didn’t hate it.”

“You didn’t hate what?”

My face felt warm. I wasn’t embarrassed about what I was saying. I guess I was embarrassed about actually saying it out loud and sounding stupid in front of him. “Um… The other night.”

His fingers paused, but he started up again a moment later. “You seemed like you did.”

Pulling back, I looked at him. There was a sort of fragileness in his face--like if I looked at him wrong, he’d shatter into a billion pieces--and I realized I’d hurt his feelings way more than I thought I did. 

Even though my hands shook, I cupped his cheeks in my palms. “Marco, I’m messed up. I wasn’t thinking straight, and that doesn’t excuse me from anything I said or did. I didn’t… I didn’t mean any of it.” I looked right into his eyes because I  _ needed _ him to understand what I was saying even though I wasn’t sure what was about to come out of my own mouth. 

“S-Since you left, I’ve been thinking and thinking and  _ thinking _ . You’ve always been there for me, and somehow, you’ve always known what I needed before I actually did need it, and I’m so, so grateful. I’m a needy person, and you’re the only person I’ve actually let know that because you’re  _ you _ . You’re Marco with the sun kisses--” his lips tilted up at the mention of my mom’s nickname for his freckles, “--and smiles, and I’m so fucking selfish because when I saw you with everybody else today  _ without _ me, I-I felt… I felt  _ jealous _ that they were making you smile when I’d hurt your feelings. You’re my best friend, a-and I  _ need _ you, and I know that isn’t, like, healthy or some shit like that, but it’s the truth.”

“Jean.”

“A-and it wasn’t… it wasn’t a  _ fuck _ . I was totally wrong. It was so far from it.” I tugged roughly at my hair. “That would imply there weren’t feelings or some shit, but there were-- _ are _ \--at least on my part. I held your hand the whole time, and if that doesn’t mean I have feelings for you, then I don’t know what does.”

I took a deep breath and dove in again. “H-how could I  _ not _ feel anything for you? You know all the things I hate about myself, and it doesn’t even bother you somehow. And I can’t even name anything bad about you, and maybe my point of view is warped by how I feel about you, and if it is, I hope it stays that way.”

“ _ Jean. _ ”

“And don’t even get me started on when you came back from your first football camp.” I groaned and rubbed my face, but I was in far too deep to stop now. “Fuck me, Marco. You got really attractive, and no homo, though, right? So it wasn’t until yesterday that I let myself actually  _ think _ without any preconceived notions about my, I don’t know--sexuality or something?--cause you’re actually really fucking hot and--”

Marco grabbed my face. “ _ Jean, shut the fuck up. _ ”

I blinked, taken aback. Marco didn’t cuss. The whole speech seemed to have taken my voice from me because I could only whisper, “I fucked up again, didn’t I?”

“Far from it.”

And he kissed me.

Just like that.

It was wonderful and warm in contrast the cool air.  _ He _ was warm in contrast to the air. He was not a roaring fire but a gently crackling hearth--inviting and welcoming and warm like an embrace. If he was the leftover embers, then that made me a prairie being taken over by a forest with how I fucking  _ caught fire _ , ready to push back trees that were threatening to take me over. 

Somehow, we’d ended up in a horizontal position, and he was hovering over me and kissing me still, and all of this was a sort of deja vu because even though I remembered what’d happened Saturday night, the feelings hadn’t been imprinted like I thought they were. I knew what it was like to have Marco kissing along my jaw, but now I knew how it  _ felt _ , and that was so much better in my opinion. 

I wished I had more hands because I wanted to touch him everywhere, but I was limited to two places at most at one time--back, thigh and neck, chest, chest and bicep, cheeks. My fingers ended up brushing the edge of his shirt, and they automatically slid under the fabric to rub at his firm abdominal muscles. A small shudder went through him, and he paused his round trip on my neck for a moment. He whispered something so quietly that I thought I misheard him. 

“What?” I didn’t let my voice rise above a whisper out of fear of shattering this dream-like reality I seemed to be living in. 

He pulled back but not enough to take his heat with him. “ _ I love you,  _ Jean _. _ ”

My heart 

pounded

in

my

chest.

He loved me, and this warm feeling in my chest--the one not from him, the tentative spark, the flower growing out of the freshly fertilized soil from my newly razed prairie-ground--was me realizing I loved him too. 

“Marco. Marco, Marco,  _ Marco _ .” My voice was full of reverence and hope and just plain  _ love _ . I reached up and pulled his face to mine, so I could pepper his face with the gentlest of kisses. Words have never been my friend, so showing him how I felt was my next best option, and I hoped he understood my unspoken language. 

Thankfully, he did, and he kissed me again and again and again, and I wanted to keep showing him how much I loved him. This whole thing was much like an orchestra--we were musicians and instruments at the same time. I tugged at his hair roughly, and his gasp was like the crash of a cymbal; his hands struck chords--major and minor, diminished and augmented--and suspensions with his sighs as releases. 

I couldn’t feel the cold anymore because we were both consumed in a burning inferno. 

My fingers hooked around his belt, and our lips parted long enough for me to say, “Do you--?” and him to reply, “ _ Please. _ ”

I couldn’t get his fucking pants off him fast enough.

As my fingers clumsily worked on the buttons of his flannel shirt, his deftly slid my shirt up and over my head. As soon as my chest was exposed, he covered the fading bruises with more love marks. For the first time, I felt up the lines of his hips and felt no haze in my head from the alcohol. Somehow, his skin was even warmer underneath his clothes, and I wanted to selfishly keep all his heat for myself. 

His mouth sucked spots onto my chest, and his teeth sunk into my shoulder in  _ just the right spot _ , and I couldn’t help the way I cried out his name and dug my fingers and nails into his back. The almost predatory growl that came from low in his throat caused a shiver to run through me, and it made me want him more. 

I reached down blindly for the edge of his undershirt and started pulling it up. He leaned away from me just long enough to yank it over his head and fling it somewhere over my head, and he was back in an instant. His thumb traced the small area of exposed skin above the waistband of my loose sweats, but he didn’t tug them down until I rolled my hips up. After that, he pushed them to my ankles, and my underwear soon followed. 

Normally, I would’ve been extremely insecure, but this was  _ Marco _ . He’d seen all of me before, and if that wasn’t enough, he was caressing my hip gently, so gently. I reached around him and slid my hands beneath his underwear and rubbed the skin of his firm ass and grasped at his thick thighs. Within seconds, I decided this fabric was definitely not needed, and I helped him shed it before I went back to feeling him up. 

“ _ Jean, _ ” he groaned when I rubbed circles into his inner thighs, and arousal shot through me again. 

My fingers rubbed and searched until I found exactly what I was building up to. “F-fuck, Marco.” He was definitely well-hung. “God, you’re so thick.” My fingers ghosted up and down his length, and holy shit was I liking what I was feeling.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he growled and punctuated his statement by pressing his hips close to mine and lifting mine up, so they were slotted together. Or they  _ would’ve _ been together if we both weren’t sporting some major boners. 

“Marco,” I whined. “I-I wanna feel you in me. Please.” I hooked a leg around his waist.

He let out a ragged breath and dropped his head to my shoulder. “I want to. I want to so bad, but we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have any condoms or lubricant.”

Oh. Yeah, I guess that was a pretty good reason.

He pressed a kiss to the side of my neck before he started slowly working his way down my chest and torso. “Wh-what are you--?”

His fingers smacked the side of my thigh to silence me. His mouth was now just below my bellybutton. “You might want to hold onto something.”

“Why the fuck would I want to--?”

My question was answered  _ extremely quickly _ as he dragged his fucking hot ass tongue up the side of my dick. “O-oh my  _ god _ ,” I moaned loudly as my hands  _ flew _ to grip his hair. 

I felt his warm breath hit the inside of my thigh as he laughed quietly at me. “You never listen to me.” I opened my mouth to throw some sass back at him, but when he slid his tongue along the underside and sucked gently at the head, I was  _ gone _ . My fingers gripped his hair, and I was pulling fairly hard, but he didn’t complain if it was hurting him. His mouth was so hot against my skin, and his tongue messed with the very tip, and my eyes crossed underneath my closed lids. The moments I could actually get my neck and eyes to cooperate long enough to look down at him, I was greeted with the gorgeous sight of his lips around me, and one time, he was even looking up at me.

It was actually embarrassing how fast I was reaching my orgasm. Marco was  _ extremely _ good, and I wasn’t sure if this was something you had to practice or if you were born with the ability to give an A+ blowjob. If it was practice, then I was torn between “who the fuck taught him?” and “I hope he teaches me too.” My hips jerked a little at first, but it wasn’t long before I was straight up trying to hump his mouth, and if it weren’t for his hands holding me firmly against the blankets, he would’ve been choking.

“M-Marco,” I mewled. “ _ Marco _ , I’m g-getting so fucking close. I’m-- _ ah! _ \--I’m c--I’m gonna-- _ Marco _ .” That was literally all I was able to give him before I came fast and hard right into his mouth. He didn’t even stop once I did start to come. His tongue kept rubbing the underside of my dick, riding my orgasm out.

The pressure holding my hips down disappeared, and the heat covering my whole body reappeared as Marco hovered over me. I reached up and pulled him down on top of me to bury my face in his neck. My heart was pounding, and I was still panting, but I couldn’t dredge up enough of a conscience to be embarrassed. My name kept falling from his lips like a cadence, a song, a prayer. 

He pulled back to look at me and cup my cheek, and I rested my palm over the top of his hand. I had to keep my eyes closed because his stare was intense--in a good way, but still. Nuzzling his warm hand, I kissed his palm. I opened my mouth and hoped something semi-intelligent would come out. “H-how did you... get s-so fucking  _ good _ ? Holy  _ shit _ .”

Wow. Thanks.

My eyes opened when I heard him snort. If my face hadn’t already been flushed, I would’ve blushed. He rubbed his nose against mine, and I felt better about my fumbled words. 

“Band camp.”

“Wait, seriously?” I blinked up at him. Marco played the alto saxophone, and he’d gone to several band camps before. 

“Yeah, actually.”

I could ask him why he’d had sex with them when he knew they wouldn’t turn into anything else. I could ask him why he hadn’t told me about  _ those _ escapades, and I could even ask him about if he’d wanted them to be more than what they were, but none of that even mattered anyway. What mattered was that he was here with me right now. 

I pressed my cheek to his, and he hummed softly into my ear. My fingers rubbed small circles into the back of his neck. Slowly, I slid my foot up and down his leg. He didn’t stop me even when I wrapped my leg around his waist and pulled him flush against me. It became pretty clear to me that he was still very aroused, and I knew he wouldn’t say anything about it because he was just that kind of person.

“Marco.” I nipped lightly at his earlobe and trailed a hand down his back to grasp at his butt. 

He raised an eyebrow at my brazenness. “Hm?”

“I want to, um, do something for you too.”

The back of his hand brushed against my cheek. “You don’t have to.”

“Would I say I wanted to if I didn’t?”

He kissed my cheek and forehead and nose and lips. Even though I sounded confident, I think he knew I was a bit nervous. I’d never done anything sexual because I hadn’t thought anybody at school was worth my time--anybody meaning a  _ girl. _ But as usual, he seemed to be able to read my mind. Running a hand down my arm, he pulled my hand off his back and kissed my knuckles. Some of the nervousness in my chest flew away because even if I didn’t do a good job, and he would still love me. We could also practice, and I was definitely looking forward to that.

I moved to sit up, and Marco backed off to let me up. He was sitting back on his heels between my sprawled-out legs. Getting up to mirror how he was sitting, I rested my hands on his thighs. They were muscular and thick yet the insides were soft with fat he’d complained about not being able to get rid of. His whole torso was lean--not scrawny like mine--with a taut stomach, defined collarbones, and some major pectorals. There was a trail of dark hair leading from his navel down to his  _ fucking hard cock. _

“You’re… you’re extremely beautiful, Marco.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and somehow managed to look  _ bashful _ . “If you say so.”

I scooted forward and ran my hands up his sides, over his shoulders, down his arms. “I do say so.” His eyes fluttered up to mine, and I realized again just how beautiful his eyes and lashes were. “Would I lie to you? Wait, no. Don’t answer that,” I cut him off before he could answer with a teasing smile which caused him to smirk. 

“I didn’t know you thought I was beautiful.”

My fingers carefully traced the lines of his face--his nose, bottom lip, cheekbone, and jaw. “You are.” Our foreheads pressed together. “You’re extremely gorgeous, and I’m so stupid for not realizing until now that I  _ love _ you.”

His eyes shuttered shut, and we were kissing again. Gentle kisses unlike the biting ones from earlier. These were me saying how much I appreciated having him in my life and how much I loved him. I placed one hand on his shoulder and nudged him until he understood that I wanted him to lay down. He held my waist and leaned back slowly until I was able to brace myself on either side of his head. I couldn’t help but shiver when he ran his warm hands up my back.

We kept kissing, and my hands slowly started to explore his chest and abdomen. It felt as good as it looked, and Marco let me know he liked my touches by sighing and humming every once in awhile. I ended up sliding to the side of him, so I could reach even lower, but our lips never parted. Before I actually continued lower, I played with the hair below his navel until I got the go-ahead. My hands slid down the last few inches. 

Touching his dick pulled an immediate reaction out of him. He bit his lip and screwed his eyes shut, and when I slowly moved my hand down to his base, he let out this shaky breath that I  _ swear _ had my name in it. I dragged my hand back up and thumbed at the head. Looking down out of curiosity, I noticed the way his thighs tensed as if they wanted to move--to thrust--and the way his toes literally curled. It made me feel in control, and I reveled in it. 

My movements were definitely unsure at first-- _ oh god; am I doing this right for him? _ \--but they sped up the more he moaned and panted. His hand reached for me, and he curled his fingers in my hair before tugging on it. I had to bite my lip to keep myself from gasping loudly at how surprisingly  _ good _ it felt. Everything just felt so good and right--how hot his skin was pressed against mine, the sound of his hitched breathing and choked moans, the taste of his flushed neck beneath my tongue. 

Marco was already really aroused before I’d even started, so it wasn’t surprising that he was reaching his climax already. He yanked me away from his neck to smother me with kisses, and when he came--“Jean, Jean.  _ Fuck _ , baby, I love y--ah!--so muuucchhh.”--my mouth took the full brunt of his voice as he cried out and gripped my back. There would definitely be bruises there, but I didn’t care. He kissed me  _ again _ \--man, I could get used to this--and pressed our foreheads together. His breath fanned my face as he struggled to catch his breath. 

I ran a hand up and down his side. “Okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. More than okay.”

“Good.”

His fingers rubbed my back against where he’d had me in a death grip just moments before. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” I shook my head, reaching blindly for the first article of clothing that I could find to clean him up. He’d made a  _ mess _ \--along his stomach, my hand, his hips. I wiped it all off and tossed my shirt towards the top of the ladder, so I’d remember to take it in the house and wash it. 

I was pulled back towards his chest immediately. Apparently, Marco was a post-coital cuddler, but I didn’t mind. I was tired anyway, and he was extremely warm. He buried a hand and his nose in my hair as I pulled some of the blankets up to cover us.

“Will you still be here when we wake up?”

I nodded, cheek resting against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

_ Can it be like this all the time? _ I wondered drowsily as I fell asleep wrapped in the arms of my best friend turned lover.  _ Because I certainly wouldn’t mind _ .

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe a second part someday to finish things out????


End file.
